Need to know
by Sweet Venom
Summary: [Yuuram] 2nd person POV oneshot. As an old man Yuuri muses about what he leaves behind when he passes from this existance.


**Need to know**

Blood Pledge Castle is asleep. Everybody. The servants, the soldiers, the royals. Everybody, including your husband. Only you stare at the canopy of your bed, unable to find rest. As you listen to him snoring peacefully, you find it impossible to keep lying there next to him.

Carefully, you remove yourself from his possessive grasp and derive a disapproving grunt. He still has this habit of clinging to you, even if the cocky boy he once was has faded into memory long ago.

You massage your fingers that have gone numb while your arm was pinned underneath his head and slowly slide off the mattress, ignoring the creaking of your old bones. Because you're so used to his warmth, you shiver at the cool air that surrounds you now and you consciously need to fight the impulse to return to bed.

As you slip into your bath robe you watch Wolfram's sleeping figure. The sweet smile on his lips, the way his eyes move under the closed lids, the slight twitch in his fingers. It doesn't take long until he rolls over, occupying your half of the bed.

You smile bitterly.

Some things never change. Yet some do change dramatically.

As you settle down at the desk at the window, you study your hands in the moonlight. They have become webbed with age and are covered with wrinkles.

An unsettling sight, isn't it? You're all too aware of how old you look compared to him, even though he is so much older than you.

With a small laugh you recall the tantrum Wolfram threw the day before, when he spotted the first fine lines forming around his eyes.

"I'm going to look like Gwendal any day now." he pouted, examining his face, forcing the smooth skin into deep wrinkles.

"You're beautiful." You simply whispered disarmingly and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Was he even aware that he had just once again pointed out how frail, how mortal you feel when you look at him?  
It's like he's a mirror. Every sign of aging you see in him highlights your own worn appearance.

The proud blond is fond of his good looks, and he's in no hurry to give up on them. You catch yourself wondering how age will agree with him, how he'll look when those beautiful blond curls have turned grey. But it's a sight you'll never see. It'll be another thirty years before that Wolfram will come into being, and before that, you'll be long gone.

Will he accept his decline as easily as Conrad? Will he try to hide it like Cheri?

You on the other hand, you readily accepted age finally catching up with you, didn't you? By that time you had already lived more than twice as long as you'd ever dreamed when you were a child. You're not afraid of dying, are you? Instead, you feel guilty. Guilty about who you leave behind.

You remember that Wolfram was much more shocked than you, at finding the first grey hair amidst all those black ones on your head. It was as if Wolfram had been dreading it, ever since Conrad's death. A creeping fear that had been stalking him, ever since his older brother had passed on. Fear of losing yet another of the people closest to him.

You feel for him. You can hardly imagine how you'd be holding up if you were faced with the fact that you'd out-live most of those you knew and loved. Somehow, you're glad, that death is finally at your doorstep, so that you don't have to face the prospect of spending life alone, without them. You've already lost so many: Nicola, Yozak, Greta, Conrad . . .

"Yuuri?" a soft voice suddenly comes from the bed and you turn to where Wolfram is peering out from underneath the four-poster's hangings. He's propped up on his elbow and watching you intently, while the material of his nightgown slides off one of his shoulders, exposing pale skin.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" You reply tenderly and walk back to the bed. "I couldn't sleep, my back was hurting me."

You laugh apologetically and scratch the back of your neck, like you always do, when you're trying to hide what you're really thinking and his eyes narrow suspiciously in response.

"What is it, wimp?" he inquires as he studies you with eyes that remind you of Conrad's. As the two of you grew older, you have come to detect many of his qualities in Wolfram, and you realised, that these brothers were not as different as you'd always believed.

With a deep sigh you settle down on the edge of the mattress, rubbing that damn knee, that's giving you so much trouble. Then, afraid to meet your husband's eyes, you fix your gaze on your feet.

"Wolf, have you ever regretted that you ..." You halt in mid-sentence and hear him shift uncomfortably, but he stays silent and lets you continue. "... fell in love with me? A half-human you need to take care of, because he's gotten old and frail?"

"I've had to take care of you ever since you came to New Makoku for the first time. This isn't much different. " he replies and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You drop the matter, even though you're not satisfied with the answer. You very much resent the fact that he'll have to care for you. The days when you were on even footing seem to be so far away, that you no longer feel like his husband, his lover, but rather like his grandfather. You sigh deeply and rest your elbows on your knees.

"We don't know how much time I have left. Maybe a day, maybe a month, maybe a year..."

"I'll be with you as long as it takes. And I'll cherish every minute we're granted."

You sigh again and you can no longer keep the bitterness from your voice.

"Are you sure you'll be able to put up with me, when I'm old and senile?"

You feel how the mattress rises as Wolfram slides off the bed, then he kneels before you, taking your face into his hands.

"In all those years have I ever given you reason to doubt my love?"

You shake your head.

"I knew this was the way it was going to be ever since I met you. Do you believe I could stop loving you, just because of such an inconvenience like age?" His voice softens "To me, you're just the same wimp I fell for over 200 years ago."

He smiles mischievously and you rise to the old challenge. You retort with your ritualistic response:

"Don't call me a wimp!"

Tenderly, he slides his hands around your waist and stretches to brush his lips against yours. As your breaths mingle, you open your mouth and allow him to deepen the kiss. After what seems like another few lifetimes, you break apart and he looks up at you with the same love shining in his eyes, that has resided there for the past two centuries.

"Come back to bed." he murmurs, and it's more a request than his usual insolent command tone.

You let him help you remove the bath robe and slide back under the covers.

For the first time in ages, you ask death to consider passing you by for another few years yet.


End file.
